Lonely Boy
by rkolove
Summary: "I can remember it all so clearly. I can remember him so clearly." SLASH. Orton/Rhodes. Set in the 1920s/30s/40s. Full explanation/summary inside. RATED M FOR A REASON.
1. Chapter 1

So about a month or so ago, I watched Chicago and something told me that the 1920s would be the perfect setting for a bit of slashy goodness. And then I was chatting with someone about A Single Man and I remembered how much I liked all the flashbacks to brief moments of the relationship. And then I found a picture of Cody Rhodes in a trilby - needless to say, that kinda pushed me over the edge.

So here you have it - my little one-shot, which has now turned into a three (possibly four)-shot. As I said to someone yesterday think suits, braces, fedoras, 1920s, whiskey, run-down apartments and rumpled sheets...

**WARNING:** Contains large helpings of slash.

**DISCLAIMER 1:** I don't own Cody Rhodes or Randy Orton.

**DISCLAIMER 2:** I don't own the beautiful lyrics at the beginning. They are all Florence + The Machine's work. But they are my fourth source of inspiration.

**DISCLAIMER 3:** I apologise for any historical inaccuracy. I did my best, but I am easily distracted when it comes to history.

**A/N:** Italics symbolise flashbacks to late 1920s/early 1930s. Everything else is told from Randy's POV in the late 1940s.

Hope you likey :-)

* * *

**Part 1**

_You are the hole in my head  
__You are the space in my bed  
_

_You are the silence in between  
__What I thought and what I said_

_You are the night-time fear  
__You are the morning when it's clear_

_When it's over you're the start_

_You're my head  
__You're my heart_

'No Light No Light' Florence + The Machine

As I leave the bar, I instantly regret my decision. But it's too late to turn back. I'm half a block before I even realise that it's raining hard, that the holes in my shoes are too large to ignore any more and that rain water is trickling down the back of my neck. I pull up my collar and hunch my shoulders, bending my head low against the downpour.

I should have stayed. I should have ordered another drink. I should have let the girl drape her arms around me, whisper in my ear, all the things she thinks all men want to hear. I should have sighed, smiled, breathed in her intoxicating perfume and let her show me a good time.

Problem is, her idea of a good time isn't necessarily the same as mine. So I got up, thanked her as politely as I could with half a bottle of whiskey inside me and left.

Someone brushes past me, not hard enough to knock me over, but with enough strength to make me stumble. My mouth opens and in my head, the perfect insult forms, yet my mouth closes again before I can make a sound. Mind and body unable to co-ordinate.

I take it slow, despite of the rain. I'm soaked to the skin already, so what difference does an extra five minutes make? It's not like I have anyone to hurry home to. Not anymore.

I used to fucking run home. I would down the compulsory post-work drink in a matter of minutes, shake hands, wish everyone the best for the weekend and I was off like a shot. I would bound down these streets with only one thing on my mind.

Him.

Nowadays, I'm the last one standing. Everyone else makes their excuses, make promises that next time will be the late one, like the good ol'days... We smile and nod, tell each other that would be great, we'll have a blast... But I know they don't mean it. And they know that these days, I'd rather drink alone.

Even the girls in the bars know to keep their distance. She must've been new. Too high, too drunk to notice my lack of interest. Some days I wonder what it would be like to give in and take one of them home, or at least, out into the alleyway. I wonder if it would make everything okay. Would it make the pain go away?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Is it a risk I'm willing to take?

No.

Not now anyway.

Give me another year. Maybe two. Or three. Who knows how long this will take. I thought, in my naïvety, that time would be the answer. But how much time? I see men with their girls, girls that last six, eight months, dropped in a flash, only to be replaced the following week. Six months is a long time. Are these men without emotional thought? Are they that hard on the inside that one girl is no different to the other, that each is replaceable should he feel that their relationship, encounter, whatever it is, has run it's course?

I fumble for my key, as I round the corner of my building. It takes three attempts to slide the key into the lock. I turn, push and stumble inside. Water patters around me, as I take the stairs slowly, one at a time. I produce the second key and this time my mind and body briefly unite to let me inside on the first try.

I pull my hat from my head and slowly hang it up on the coat stand. I slide my coat off and arrange it neatly. I peer into the dirt-ridden mirror propped against the wall. My eyes are bloodshot, my skin pale. My shirt collar is a mixture of grey from the dampness and sweat and brown from dirt. I peel off my suit jacket and throw it aimlessly at the chair. It misses. I look at it on the floor for a moment, before I unbutton my shirt slowly and let it fall to the floor.

I close my eyes. I can almost feel his breath ghosting over my shoulder blades, his hands working their way up my back, his thumbs working out the knots. His hands sliding around my torso, pulling me hard against him. His mouth pressed against my skin. The way he would toy with my earlobe between his teeth, making me hiss.

I shiver and open my eyes.

I'm drunk.

He's not here.

Kicking the shirt out of the way, I stumble towards the chair and drag it closer to the window. Closer to the almost empty bottle of whiskey on the ledge. I sit, lean forward and push the window open. Wide open. The rain continues to thunder down, the perfect way to drown out everyone and everything.

The barely-clean glass next to the bottle is filled in an instant and I toast to no-one before I gulp it down. It must be one, maybe two in the morning. I should be in bed. But I haven't slept in that bed for a long time now. I prefer the chair. I prefer to drink myself to sleep than to lie there in the dark, willing, begging for sleep to take hold.

Not so long ago, another chair would have been placed next to this one. Another body only inches away from mine. I could reach out, caress his fingers, the back of his hand, whenever I wanted or needed to. His fingers would curl around mine, squeeze them tight. I would look over at him and he'd give me that small smile that made my heart race. His eyes would open and close slowly, his eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheekbones. Every time I looked at him, I swear I fell more and more in love with him.

I used to joke that I had fallen in love with him before our paths even crossed. He'd roll his eyes, stick his tongue out and laugh.

That laugh still wakes me up at night.

That laugh was the first I ever heard of him.

_I zip up my pants and head for the door. One more drink and then I'm out of here. People smile at me as I wind my way around the tables towards the bar. I smile back, shake hands with a few I've met before. I make a stop at my table, offer to pay for the next round and make a mental note of the requests. Not that it's that hard. The choice these days is between gin and whiskey, both watered down beyond belief._

_I lean against the bar and fumble in my pocket for cigarettes and matches. The box is empty. I chuck it on the bar, cursing silently. The bar-man approaches me and I reel off the order. He nods and reaches for glasses as I continue to pat down my pockets in search of another box of matches._

"_Fuck."_

_Someone jostles against me, laughing, chuckling, shaking their head in amusement at whatever their companion is saying._

"_Watch it," I mutter. But I don't look round. The bar-man is lining up the glasses and I'm more concerned with retrieving the crumpled notes from my pocket._

"_Have you got any matches?" I ask. The bar-man shrugs and shakes his head, pulling the notes from my fist._

"_Hey man, you want a light?"_

_I turn._

_Chuckles is gazing up at me. His hat is pushed back on his head, revealing dark, ruffled hair. He's young, a look of innocence about him, but then I notice his eyes. They practically gleam. His mouth is slowly opening, forming words that I don't hear. I'm fucking hypnotised._

_I'm fucking staring._

_Shit._

_I quickly look away and then glance back at him. Those eyes are still gleaming and now his mouth is curled into a smile._

"_Do you need a light?"_

_His fingers are curled around a match, ready to strike the side of the box. _

_I place a cigarette between my lips and inhale as the flame touches the tip._

"_Thanks," I murmur._

"_No problem." He turns to leave, but I can't let him._

"_I'm Randy," I say quickly._

_He glances over his shoulder at me. "Cody."_

I empty the bottle and place it on the floor. I don't quite get the angle right and it falls on it's side and rolls away. I watch it go and then turn back to watching the darkness.

I didn't see him again until a month or so later. He'd been flickering in and out of my mind ever since the first encounter, so when I saw him approach me from across the room, I wasn't sure if I was wrapped up in one of my dreams and that the second he got in touching distance, he'd fade away and I'd wake up sweating, with my morning glory propping up the bedsheets.

But no, he was there, standing in front of me, asking if I wanted a drink. I nodded, dumbfounded and he disappeared for a minute or two. He returned with two glasses, placed them on the table and took the seat opposite me. And then he started to tell me stories. About how he'd just moved here from down south. Funny, I said, I'm from the south too. Really? Small world. He worked for the local rag. Reporter. And what did I do? I must do something real fancy, what with the sharp suit and that. I laughed. Nothing fancy. Tell me. So I did. I told him everything about me. I must've talked for a good half hour before he said another word. I had to force myself to shut up, to stop pouring out my very soul to him.

I remember him watching me closely. He rolled the empty glass between his hands, his legs crossed, his foot tapping against the table in beat with the band playing on the stage. He'd raise his eyebrow occasionally and every so often that mouth of his would curl into a smile, sometimes a grin. But his eyes never moved or changed.

When I paused in my monologue, he shuffled his seat and glanced at his watch. I could have kicked myself. How stupid could I be? He was just being polite. I reached forward and downed the rest of my drink. And then he asked if I had time for one more drink. So we sat some more. We drank some more. And then, when the bar-man practically hauled us to the door, he asked if I was free the next evening.

Hell, every time he ever asked me that I was always free.

I started to clock-watch in the afternoons. One minute to six, I was already putting on my coat, ready to bound down the stairs and fucking skip the two blocks from my office to his. He'd be outside waiting for me, cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, the evening paper under his arm, hat tipped back in his usual cheeky style.

That image of him never gets old. Forget everything else, if I could keep one memory of him, it would be that. The way his eyes would light up the minute he saw me. The way my heart would start racing, how my palms would start sweating. The way he took my breath away – I want to feel that all over again.

At first, I thought it was just me. I thought I was deluding myself, that it was all in my head. We were just two guys, who had something in common – both trying to make our way in this city. A city that could easily swallow you whole. A city that was so full that it was bursting at the seams, yet could make you feel so alone at the same time. The guys at work, they had their wives, families, friends. And who did I have? Up until I met Cody, I only had them.

And then we had each other.

I close my eyes and down the last remaining trickle of whiskey from the glass.

Sometimes, I wonder if things would have turned out the same way if... If we'd remained steady, if things hadn't spiralled out of control. Would we still be sitting here, sharing a drink? Or would I still be alone, no matter if we'd jumped in the deep end or not? Did my reckless abandon ultimately affect his decision? Was it all my fault? Or was it his destiny, his ambition, his need to constantly better himself that has left me alone once again?

Questions constantly whir around my mind, engulfing me in an endless what if.

The only way to forget, the only way to figure out the answer is to re-live it all again.

I lean back and close my eyes.

I remember it all so well.


	2. Chapter 2

So, about 5 mins ago, this would not have been posted. Silly . Anyway, it's here now. So I'll shut up and you can get scroll down and get reading.

**A/N:** _Italics_ are the past. Regular is the present - watch out for it, I'm mixing it up in this one.

**WARNING:** Just a huge helping of slash. Hello!

**DISCLAIMER:** a) I don't own Randy Orton. b) I don't own Cody Rhodes either and c) I have an unreliable knowledge of history.

Hope you likey - there is at least one more chapter after this. All will be explained. I promise.

* * *

**Part 2**

_Cody is outside as usual, but today I can't see his face – his umbrella shields my usual view. I forgot mine. In my haste to leave the office, I didn't remember to pick it up from the coat stand._

"_Hey," I say._

_He glances up, a smile cracking his face in two and then he frowns. "Do you work in a basement or something? Didn't ya notice the weather?"_

_I shrug, only then noticing that I'm shivering._

"_C'mon," he sighs, grabbing my arm and pulling me under the shelter of the umbrella. "Have you heard? They closed down the bar."_

"_What? Why?" Panic races through me. Is this it? The bar, one of the last in the neighbourhood, was the one thing that we had in common here._

"_What d'you think? The cops got wind of it, the booze was stopped coming in, the usual."_

"_What do we do now?"_

"_Huh? Well, I... my apartment isn't far from here. I thought... I have..." he lowers his voice, "I've got a bottle of something... A guy at work, he's got a guy..."_

"_Yeah, yeah, sounds great."_

"_Really?" He sounds surprised._

"_Sure. Why not?"_

"_Why not indeed," Cody grins._

* * *

_Cody's apartment is surprisingly closer to mine than I first thought. I recognised the streets and realised that I must walk within a block of his place every day. He leads the way up the stairs and opens the door with a flourish._

"_Welcome to the penthouse," he laughs. I gaze around the single room with a small smile. A bed, complete with rumpled sheets is in the corner, papers, shirts and various other items strewn across it. A table by the window, with two mix-matched chairs, is also covered in papers, an overflowing ashtray and empty glasses. In the other corner is a dresser, the drawers broken. A door hangs off its hinges and from the bent hangers that peek from behind it, I realise it must be the closet. Two floor cabinets make up the barely-there kitchen._

"_It's not much, I know," Cody starts to make excuses as he attempts to clear space for me at the table._

"_Don't worry, my place is nothing to look at either. I don't think anyone here has more than this."_

_He grins. We both know that's not true._

"_Sit," he gestures. "I'll get the drinks."_

_I watch as he grabs two glasses and rinses them in the sink. The pipes creak and groan, the water coming in sudden spurts. He shakes them dry and then crouches down and pries up one of the floorboards. I hear glass hit the lead water pipes and Cody hisses. Slowly, he retrieves the bottle, thankfully still intact._

_He sits down, places a glass in front of me and pours. I wait until he pours his own and then raise my glass. _

"_To you."_

"_To me?"_

"_For offering up your apartment and booze."_

_He smiles shyly. "Here's to you for joining me."_

_We gulp, wipe our mouths and then both reach for the bottle at the same time. My hand covers his. Neither of us move. _

"_Sorry," I murmur. But I don't make any attempt to withdraw my hand._

"_No problem."_

_I glance at him and notice with a jolt that his eyes are fixated on my hand and his. His eyes flicker and suddenly they're staring straight at me. I want to look away. I need to look away. I have to look away. It's like he's daring me to make the first move. But what is the first move? What is it that he's daring me to do? Look away? Move my hand from his? Or something... Something else?_

_But I hesitate a second too long. Cody looks away and his hand slips from under mine, accompanied with his murmur to help myself. As he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fumbles to light one, I lift the bottle and top up his glass before my own. This time though, there's no toast and he downs his glass before I can even fill mine._

_Silence envelopes us. I stare at the table, fixated on one of the many stains that cover it's surface. I don't dare look up. I'm too embarrassed, too ashamed. Of what, I'm not sure. Of my hesitation? Maybe. Of my assumption that perhaps, just perhaps, I wasn't the only one alone with this idea that there was something more than just friendship between us? Definitely. If there was something more, wouldn't he have leaned over the table and confirmed my suspicions?_

_Or is he has afraid as I am? Afraid to take a chance, to risk everything? And is he now doing the same as me – wondering how long we have to drag this drink out for until we can part ways and forget it ever happened? We will both say our goodbyes, tell each other we should do this again sometime, but make no firm plans. I will leave, wander a block or two back to my apartment and tomorrow? Tomorrow I'll take the long way round to work. And afterwards, I will turn left instead of right out of the building and head straight home._

_Yes, that's what will happen. And will continue to happen into the distance future, until all thoughts of Cody are eradicated._

_I lift the glass to my lips and tip my head back. I'm all ready to place the glass back on the table, glance at my watch and make my excuses. I am ready to walk out of his apartment and head back to solitude._

"_Another?"_

_Cody offers the bottle, his glass already full. His eyes are questioning, searching. Searching for the same reassurance that I am?_

_I nod dumbly. What harm will it do?_

"_So, this guy of your's? Do you think he'll be able to fix me up too?" I ask, desperate to break the painful silence._

_Cody shrugs. "I guess. But I would've thought you already had someone to hook you up?"_

_I shake my head. "No such luck."_

"_He charges."_

"_I can cover it."_

"_I'll ask."_

"_Thanks."_

_It's a blatant lie on my part. I have my own bottle of whiskey, hidden under my own floorboards. But I had to say something. Anything to dissipate the thick awkward silence. Not that it worked. The only sound I can hear is the pipes creaking under the floorboards and the soft rumble of passersby on the street below._

_Perhaps we've exhausted all possible avenues of conversation with our previous drinking expeditions. We have covered everything in the past. And neither of us seems particularly keen to re-hash certain stories, anecdotes or we haven't exactly fallen into comfortable silence. I can tell from the pensive look on Cody's face that he's constantly wracking his brain for something, anything to say. Carefully calculating if what he's thinking will sound the same if spoken out loud. I watch as his tongue slips out and wets his lips, but he seems to change his mind at the last second and no words are uttered._

_Instead, he gestures at the bottle and I nod._

_We take it in turns. The ashtray continues to over-flow, as the bottle steadily empties. It's only when I casually reach for my glass and end up knocking it sideways, that I realise how drunk I am._

"_Shit, sorry." Whiskey cascades over the table and drips onto the floor. I shift my chair back and stare helplessly at the mess._

"_Don't worry about it," Cody mumbles, a cigarette between his lips. He gets up and grabs a dirt-ridden cloth from the sink. He stoops down and wipes lazily._

"_Maybe I should go..." I mutter. I try to get to my feet, but my legs get tangled in air and I stumble._

_Cody laughs. "For a big guy, you sure can't hold your liquor."_

_I scowl, rubbing my head which is already starting to pound._

"_Sit down." Cody stands up and walks back to the sink. He rummages in a cupboard and pulls out a spare glass, which he fills with water._

"_Sit," he says again as he offers me the glass. "Drink."_

_I sit. I drink. I watch how he watches me, his eyes slightly narrowed, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. And then he shakes his head and looks out of the window._

"_What?" I mumble._

"_I didn't say anything."_

"_Why shake your head?"_

"_I was... I was just thinking." He fumbles with the cigarette pack and realising that it's empty, throws it to the floor in frustration._

"_Have one of mine," I push my pack towards him. He accepts it with out a word. Smoke drifts towards me and I inhale deeply._

_My thoughts start to drift too. What was he thinking? Why the shake of the head? And does he always play with his bottom lip like that? Does he know how hypnotising that is? Does he know that when I was 16, I kissed someone who did that to my lip? Does he know how that made me feel? Does he know that right now, I'm thinking about him doing that to me?_

_No, of course he doesn't. Most likely he was wondering how much longer he needs to put up with me in his apartment, before he can push me out of the door._

"_I should go," I say again, this time with more determination._

"_Stay."_

"_No, really. I need to go."_

_He stares at me with wide eyes. "Please?"_

"_You don't need to be polite. I know when I'm not welcome anymore," I say, slowly getting to my feet to ensure that I don't wreck the place anymore than I already have._

"_What makes you say that?" Cody gets to his feet and follows me towards the door. "If I offended you, I'm sorry. But, c'mon, you don't have to leave."_

"_Yeah, I really do." My hand is on the door handle._

_And then his hand is on top of mine. His fingers are entwining with mine as he pulls my hand away. I can feel him tugging at me, pulling me around to face him._

"_Stay," he says again. I realise that his voice is low, almost a whisper. And that he is standing close to me. So very close. Inches away._

_I shake my head. My voice is caught in the back of my throat. Not that I would know what to say. I can feel his breath on my neck. I can smell whiskey, cigarette smoke, ink, sweat and a hint of cologne._

_So close._

_And then I can taste all of those things. His mouth is warm, soft, wet. The right kind of right kind of everything in fact. His hand is still wrapped around mine, squeezing it tightly. I want him to move it. I want him to grab the back of my neck and pull me deeper into his embrace. I need him to want me even more. His tongue slips into my mouth and I can feel my knees starting to buckle. My head is spinning and I'm pretty sure the whiskey has nothing to do with it._

_Tentatively, I raise a hand and slide it around the back of his neck, my fingers digging into the flesh, into his hair. I pull him closer, his body crashing against mine. His hand slips from mine and I can feel it curling around my hip. It tugs at my shirt, pulling it free from my pants. I hiss into his mouth as his fingers make contact with my bare flesh and I swear his lips twitch in a smile._

_And then we're moving, stumbling frantically across the room. Cody is pushing me, guiding me until he falls backwards, taking me with him. His hands grip my hips, pulling me down on top of him. I can hear his heavy breathing, the sound of paper being crumpled and the sharp thud as his shoes hit the floor. Taking this as a hint, I desperately try to rid myself of my jacket. Cody's hands crash into mine as he tries to help me. I hook my fingers into the knot of my tie and tug it free. Cody's fingers dance over mine, sending shivers down my spine as they start to pluck at the top button of my shirt and then slip inside to caress my throat._

_More buttons are undone. And his fingers slowly start to make their way across my chest. Fingers that twist around my shirt and pull me hard against him. Fingers that absent-mindedly flick across my nipples, causing me to swear into his mouth. Fingers that push the shirt from my shoulders and then roam down my back, lightly skimming the surface one second and then dig firmly into my flesh the next._

_My mouth slides from his and I pull back for a second._

* * *

I jump. The rain has stopped, but now there's an ice cold breeze blowing through the window. I realise that I'm shivering. I reach forward and close the window, wondering how long I've been asleep for.

I close my eyes. Where was I? What was I dreaming...

The straining in my pants gives it away.

The image of Cody lying beneath me, gazing up at me through thick eyelashes, his skin flushed, his lips bruised and swollen, flashes through my mind. My hand drifts over my stomach and I fumble with my belt buckle.

He looked so coy. I can laugh now. He was never coy. Some people said that he was pure innocence. I know better. There was nothing innocent in the look that he gave me. I realised that later. A split second later in fact, when his lips flicked into a smirk and his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip. And when he stretched out beneath me and moaned wantonly as his constrained cock brushed against mine.

My hand wraps around my cock and I start to tug.

* * *

_Cody's moans echo around me. He's staring straight at me as he ruts against me. But my eyes are roaming over his body. And then something catches my eye and I'm instantly hypnotised. Beneath his jacket and glaringly obvious against his white shirt are thick, red braces. I reach out and push his jacket open even further. My fingers must have grazed over his nipples as he squirms beneath me, his eyes suddenly closing as he exhales slowly._

"_Sit up," I grunt, the first coherent words either of us said since the altercation at the door._

_He struggles to do follow my command, but my arms encircle him and I soon feel his mouth on my neck. I push his jacket away and then beginning to run my fingers over the red material. I didn't think anyone wore them anymore. And little does he know that my first ever experience with a man involved me wearing braces. I remember the way he fingered them, hooking the tips of his fingers under them, toying with them as he kissed me. I can remember how he tugged on them and then let them snap back against my skin. I remember how it stung. But in a good way. And I'm all ready to do the same to Cody. My fingers are already hooked under them, running up and down, as Cody's mouth adorns my neck with licks and bites. I pluck at them playfully. He bites harder._

_I snap them once more, feel Cody buck against me and relent. I slide the braces down his arms, one at a time. He shrugs them free and then pulls away to un-do his shirt. I slide my hand around the back of his neck and pull him against me as the final button is released. My mouth crashes against his as I feel his hands drop to my waist and feel my belt tighten and then loosen. His tongue probes my mouth as his fingers unfasten my pants and brush over my cock._

"_Fuck," I mumble into his mouth._

_And I swear he grins in response._

_His fingers trail my entire length, starting from the base. They graze over my balls and then slowly travel over the thick vein on the underside, until finally, his thumb lazily rubs the tip. Instinctively, I bite down thinking I'll capture my own lip between my teeth, but it's his lip I capture and it's his moan that vibrates through me. And it's his hand that engulfs my cock and starts to stroke._

_Within minutes, I'm a mess. I can feel a thin sheen of sweat forming over my body and my breath is coming in short, ragged gasps. Cody's mouth dances inches away from mine and every so often he leans into to capture my lips, before pulling away suddenly, leaving me begging for more. His hand grips me tightly and the speed gradually starts to increase. His thumb grazes the tip and I can feel pre-cum slide over the entire head. I lean forward and pull him against me. His mouth misses mine and his teeth sink into my earlobe._

"_I want you," I hear myself gasp._

_Cody giggles, his breath tickling my ear._

"_Please."_

_I can feel his wrist jerking between us, feel that fiery sensation in my stomach. I'm so close._

_Cody scrambles away from me._

"_What the..." My cock is twitching, still believing that Cody's hand is wrapped around it._

_His eyes are dancing as he almost tumbles off the bed. He stands unsteadily and then curls his finger, beckoning me towards him._

_With a confuse look, I obey and as soon as I'm close enough, he pulls me to my feet. His mouth presses against my chest, his hands pushing my pants down until they fall of their own accord. His mouth sinks lower, his hands grasping my hips, as he reaches my stomach. His tongue dips into my belly button and I groan, my hands dropping to clasp the back of his head, as he moves down further, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the inside of my thigh._

_His hand wraps around my length once again, long, slow strokes this time. I chance a look down and catch him staring up at me. His tongue wets his lips before he presses them against the tip of my cock. My head rolls back, as I feel his lips open wider as he slides his mouth over me. His hand grips the base, squeezing as his mouth pulls back. I hear his lips smack together and then they press against the head once again._

"_Cody... Please..."_

_I can't take the teasing anymore. Even with the squeezing and the slow sucks, I'm on the edge, ready to shoot my load any minute. My fingers twist around his thick curls, as his mouth almost swallows me whole. He pulls back and then his lips are pressed against my pelvis and the tip of my cock is brushing against the back of his throat. He gags and I feel him splutter, but he doesn't pull back. His hands grip my thighs as he slowly starts to rock me back and forth._

_I'm done for. I can feel my knees starting to buckle and both my hands grip Cody's head as my cock thrusts faster and harder into his mouth. He pulls back slightly and starts to run his tongue over me, lapping eagerly at the underside, teasing the vein, teasing the slit in the tip._

"_I'm..." I gasp. His hands slide round to grip my ass, as his mouth hollows and I explode._

_I fall backwards onto the bed, my spent cock slipping from his lips. His hands stay firmly on my thighs as he licks his lips. A white strand is stuck to his chin and I'm unsure whether it's from me or him. He hasn't noticed it and even as he rocks backwards and stands, it still clings there. I watch as he drops his pants, my gaze immediately turning to what hangs below his waist instead of his chin. _

_I move back as he approaches me, barely noticing how the paper strewn across the bed sticks to my back. Cody's hands rest on my ankles for a moment and then travel up my legs, moving them apart as he kneels on the bed. I can feel my eyes widen, as my mind starts to understand what's about to happen, or rather, what I think is about to happen. And he must've seen my face because his lips twitch and he giggles._

_I stare at him, confused as his hands brush over my thighs and he leans forward. Instinctively, I reach up to grasp him, my initial thought being to pull him down, to claim his mouth once again. But his head slides to one side, his mouth capturing two of my fingers instead. His tongue swirls around them, coating their entire length with his spit. My cock is stirring and out of the corner of my eye I see him reach down and give his own a few sharp tugs._

"_Go on," he whispers hoarsely, releasing my fingers. "Please."_

_He straddles me and I shiver as I feel the tip of my cock brush over his hole. I trail my hand down his back as he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. One finger brushes over his entrance and I feel him tense against me. I push against it and feel the resistance._

"_Do it."_

_I press harder and my finger slides into his body. He hisses, swears, grasps my shoulder, my hip tightly. I can smell my essence on his breath, almost taste it. I wiggle my finger and a guttural moan escapes his lips._

"_Another," he urges._

_I do as he says and am rewarded with him flattening himself against me, his mouth crashing against mine and his cock rubbing along my own. He clenches around me as I start to move my fingers in and out of him. I twist them slightly, trying desperately to go deeper, to find that one spot... But I can only tease at it. And I know that I'm teasing as whenever I even get close, he pulls away from my mouth, his eyes clenched shut, his entire body caught up in the sensation._

"_Sit up."_

_My fingers slide out of him as he does and I grip his hips, shifting him back, lifting him up. He reaches beneath him, his hand sliding over mine as we both guide my cock into him._

_I freeze when he cries out. His fingers dig into my wrists and it takes all my strength to keep him where he is. I can feel the tip is just breaching him and it's so fucking hard not to move and unintentionally sink into him._

"_I'm okay," he gasps. "Keep... Keep going."_

_His knuckles are white as he maintains a tight grip on my wrists, as he lowers himself onto me. I'm just over halfway in when he starts to relax. His head rolls back and he exhales. His fingers loosen their grip and allow me to move one of my hands._

_I reach up and cup his chin, forcing him to look at me. I stroke his cheek with his thumb as he takes me all in. His eyes are screwed shut, but his jaw is relaxed and a lazy smile is tugging at his lips._

_Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to move. His hips move back and forth and I have to concentrate to keep my eyes open. I don't want to miss a second. If this is it, if this is all it will ever be, then I want to remember every second. I want to be able to play this over and over again in my mind, late at night, early in the morning, when I'm at my fucking desk. He looks..._

_Cody's eyes flicker open and I'm gone. I'm lost in them. I'm barely aware of him rolling his hips, squeezing my cock or murmuring my name. All I can do is stare into his eyes, into the unknown. His mouth captures my thumb that's still caressing his cheek and he sucks hard. The moan gets caught in the back of my throat – my mouth is so dry that nothing I want to say can be said. _

"_Randy..."_

"_Cody..."_

_He reaches for his cock that's bouncing off his abs and starts to jerk off. I tear my eyes away from his face and watch him smear pre-cum over the tip. With every rise, his cock shoots through his fist – his hand barely moves, but I can see his wrist flexing as he tightens his grip. He moans wantonly as I grab his hips and start thrusting with abandon. _

_The bedsprings are creaking, the metal frame is banging steadily against the wall, barely muffling the sounds coming from us – the slap of skin on skin, the ever-growing moans, the half-gasped, half-groaned names, curses, commands._

"_Harder..."_

_The begging..._

"_Please... I'm... So..."_

"_Close..."_

_My hips buck violently as I pull Cody firmly down onto me. My eyes squeeze shut, my entire body tensed, preparing to shut down completely as I cum inside him. I hold him there, not wanting to move. I can still here his hand working his cock, feel him clenching around me as the first stream of stickiness hits my stomach._

* * *

I still call his name when I cum. I can't help it. A natural reflex. Old habits die hard.

Another reason why I can't move on. He is still there, ever present. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, I feel like if I look over my shoulder he'll be standing right there, that grin plastered all over his face. He'll stroll towards me, grasp my shoulder and whisper in my ear. He'll make me blush. He'll laugh and then pull me into the shadows.

But he's never there. And never will be.

We both made sure of that. But not out of choice.


	3. Chapter 3

I have to admit, I really wish that this wasn't the end. In three weeks, I've got quite attached to this little 3-shot and I really wish I had the time and imagination to make this into a longer story. I honestly have had the best time writing both Cody and Randy in this setting. Perhaps, I shall re-visit it one day and treat you all to some more smutty, braces action lol. But for now, this will have to do. A lot of you have been wondering what happened, so I hope this will a) satisfy your curiosity and b) leave you with a little smidgen of hope that all is not lost. We all need a little hope right?

**WARNING:** Have some tissues at the ready. Oh and there's a few little dashings of slashy smutty goodness.

**DISCLAIMER:** I only own my thoughts.

**A/N:** As always, _Italics_ are flashbacks, this time set in the late 1930s.

Lots of hugs and love to everyone who has read this, commented, shared the Cody braces lurve. Hope you all likey. x

* * *

**Part 3**

We saw it all together. Well, I say we saw... In fact, most things seem to pass us by. We were too wrapped up in each other, wrapped up in bed sheets, to notice what was going on outside those four rather, we chose not to notice or even care. We both knew it was coming. Cody more than me. But we just never realised how much it would impact on us.

Things were so simple at first. After that particular day, it became the norm. But it was so much more secretive. The irony – we spent months sneaking into speakeasies, yet we never felt the need to hide our friendship. But change the setting to his apartment and the lies started to fall out of our mouths. No more after-work drinks with the guys. I made excuses after excuses. I didn't care how many times I used the same one or how outrageous my lies became. I'd garble something and then dive into the crowds heading back to the suburbs.

I'd race up the stairs, lift my hand to knock and the door would open before I even touched it. A hand would reach out, grab my wrist, my tie, my collar, my neck, whatever took his fancy that day and drag me inside. It was all so frantic. Sloppy kisses that quickly turned into fierce, almost brutal assaults on our mouths, necks, chests, thighs. The sound of buttons popping open, shirts being torn. Desperate panting, begging, cries, whispers. Flushed, sweaty skin. Limbs tangled together as his head of thick, slicked back curls stuck to my chest.

To an outsider, maybe that's all they would see. Just sex. And sure, maybe at first, that's all it was. All either of us wanted was to feel needed. Fucking was a quick and easy way to get that feeling of closeness, of being wanted by someone else. And maybe we should have left it at that. I mean, that would have a solved a lot of problems later on.

But when suddenly it's six months later and you're sitting at work, watching, begging, willing for 5 o clock to come, perhaps it's more than just a quick fuck. When you don't actually go home for five nights straight. When you wake up in the morning and realise that your shirts are hanging next to his in the closet, it's quite a big hint as to what you're really doing.

Not that either of us acknowledged this at first. Or maybe we didn't even notice, not properly anyway. But then something changed. Things started to slow down. Cody waited for me to knock. And we started talking. We passed pleasantries between us as I closed the door behind me, took off my own hat and coat, hung them up instead of letting them drop to the floor. Cody's arms would wrap around me, his lips brush against my cheek as I told him about my day. We'd sit, smoke, drink, think about food, as he told me about some story or other that he might get to cover. Then sometimes, we would actually make it out of the apartment for dinner. And when we got back? Well, all hell would break loose, the sexual tension too much for either of us to bear. Yet, even then, something was different. I couldn't put my finger on it. Sometimes it was just the way he said my name. Sometimes it was just a look. But whatever it was, it would take my breath away. It didn't matter when it happened – I could be on my knees, his cock in my mouth, or he be on all fours in front of me, my hands clutching his ass, watching in fascination as my cock moving in and out of him – but whenever 'it' occurred, I was left stunned at the way it made me feel.

I blink furiously, wipe my eyes. Perhaps looking back wasn't the best idea. It brings up things that I'd rather forget about my own decisions. Like how I quit caring about anything else that didn't involve him. I was too involved, but it was too late to take a step back. I thought we were on the same page. Perhaps we were, but I'll never know. If we were, we had different ways of showing it. I buried my head in the sand, whilst Cody stuck his neck on the line. Quite literally.

Cody had ambition. I had Cody. Above anything else, I was in awe of him. It was more than how he made me feel physically. Sure, that was an attraction, but it was so much more than that. It was the way he conducted himself. Wasn't that what I was really attracted to? Whilst I was sitting at my desk, wishing the days away, Cody was at his desk, making every second count.

Funny because out of the two of us, I was the one who always looked the part. My neatly pressed suit, next to Cody who always looked like he was either growing in or out of his. But my heart wasn't in it. I watched as desks empted around me, watched typists walking out of the office in tears, men gathering up their possessions wondering what they were going to tell their families and all I prayed for was that I would be next. I didn't care.

But Cody... He gave his all. He covered any story he could get his hands on. Late nights, weekends spent at the table, tongue poking out the side of mouth, forehead creased in concentration as he scribbled word after word into his notepad in order to hit his Sunday evening deadline. And it paid off. His name started to creep into the front half of the paper.

Of course I was happy for him. And I thought he knew that. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Again, I'll never know. Somehow I think it was the latter. I was so disillusioned with my own lot in life that perhaps I barely acknowledged his success. And maybe that pushed him to better himself even more. I made him think that he wasn't good enough. But I was so proud of him. My heart would leap whenever I saw his name in black and white. But I don't think I ever told him that.

But that is just one of the many things I regret.

The irony was that nothing changed between us. From the outside, you'd never had noticed that we were fighting. I don't think we even realised that we were in the middle of an argument that was never vocalised.

I heave myself to my feet and stand motionless, wondering what to do. What do you do when the one person you relied on, no matter what, is gone for good? Ten years is a long time to be with someone who...

I inhale deeply and exhale slowly, desperate to steady my nerves. My head is pounding and I can feel the tension behind my eyes, feel my nose tingle. Not tonight. In fact, never again. Too much time has passed and too many tears shed. He is not coming back. He can't come back.

I can remember so clearly the day he told me. I can remember what he smelled like. What he felt like. What he wore. What I wore. Where we were.

We were in bed. As usual.

_Cody's head rests on my shoulder and my fingers run lazily through his hair. Whilst I'm naked from the waist down, Cody's bottom half is completely clothed, despite the fact his pants are undone, the braces that he refuses to swap for belts, still clipped in place, yet the straps drape over his thighs. His fingers pick at the buttons of my shirt, as he runs his tongue over his lips. I smirk._

"_What?" he murmurs._

"_Nothing."_

_He looks up at me through those thick eyelashes of his._

"_Tell me."_

"_Just thinking about you."_

"_Yeah? Care to share?"_

"_I think you already know all my deepest, darkest thoughts about you," I murmur, my free hand moving to tip his head back so I can kiss him._

"_But I like it when you tell me," he mumbles._

"_I could just show you instead."_

_He nods as my tongue pushes into his mouth and I pull him on top of me. His hands slide under my shirt, as mine run down his back and tug his pants down. I flip him onto his back, my mouth attacking his neck, as my hand grasps his cock. His teeth nip at my ear as I grip him hard and start to tug. I crawl down his body, the tip of my tongue picking out the spots on his chest and stomach that I know make him howl. I'm not disappointed. I take my time working down the deep groove leading from his hip to his groin, my hands gripping his thighs, slowly spreading his legs._

"_I have to tell you something," he gasps._

_I place open mouthed kisses down the inside of his leg to his knee and then work my way back up the other side._

"_I've got to go away," he continues. "For a bit. I don't know how long. They say that the tensions in Europe are getting worse. Germany is taking control. They reckon war is going to break out at any moment."_

"_So?" I murmur, trailing a finger up the underside of his cock._

"_So? Randy, it's a fucking war."_

"_What's that got to do with you?" I lick my lips, eyeing up the tip of his cock, watching the pre-cum form._

"_They want me to go to Europe. They want me to be a war correspondent."_

_I pull back. "For how long?"_

_Cody shrugs. "However long it takes I guess."_

"_Where are you going?"_

"_London first. Then maybe France. I don't know. They can't tell me much. Not right now anyway."_

"_When are you going?"_

"_Soon."_

"_Soon? What does that mean?"_

_He shrugs again. "I don't know. Whenever they tell me to go, I have to go."_

"_Have to go?"_

_His eyes widen. "You... you don't want me to go?"_

"_Why you? Why not someone else?" I push his legs back together._

"_No-one... no-one else will go."_

"_Sure."_

_Silence._

"_Do you want to go?" I murmur._

_Silence._

"_Codes. If you don't want to go, then tell them."_

"_I want to go." His voice is sharp, decisive. It barely falters. But I don't believe him._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Yes."_

_I lie down next to him, our shoulders touching. His hand reaches out and grasps mine._

"_It'll be okay," he tells me. "Maybe nothing will happen. I'll be gone a few months and then I'll be back and nothing will have changed."_

_I don't believe him. And this time, I don't think he even believes himself._

He kept saying everything will be fine. Every day he came home, telling me that he still didn't know when he was going, but everything would be okay. He told me about the others who were already out there from the other papers. They were bored out of their minds. Nothing was happening, not in London anyway.

For months we carried on and I started to believe that nothing would ever happen. And then one day it did.

I was walking out of the office when I saw him leaning against the wall. I knew instantly. He didn't have to say it. He just looked at me. And all I could do was nod. We walked in silence back to his apartment.

There was so much I wanted to ask him – when, how long, where. But I couldn't get the words out. The questions went round and round my head as he took my hand and pulled me towards the bed. His lips never left my skin, his arms firmly wrapped around me. I could feel his urgency, his desperation.

But all I could do was go through the motions. He whispered to me, told me how he'd miss me, that every minute between now and his departure would be spent with me, how he'd write to me, how it wouldn't be forever. A few months and he'd be back. Promise.

A promise that we both knew he couldn't keep.

That last week flew by. I've wasted too much time trying to remember what happened. But I come up blank. My last memory of him is standing at the airport, being unable to kiss him, being unable to tell him how I felt, how I didn't want him to leave. I stood there hands at my side, watching couples around us kiss and hug, husbands telling their wives how much they loved them, children crying, not understanding why daddy was leaving. And I couldn't even touch him. He stood before me, his eyes dancing around nervously, avoiding my gaze. And when the final call came, we shook hands and said a formal goodbye.

Three words were on the tip of my tongue for the whole of that last week. But I never had the guts to say them. I used to tell him all the time. But he would just laugh. He never took me seriously. So I stopped saying it. Out loud anyway.

And the one time I should have told him, the one time that he might have taken me seriously, I couldn't. I knew that even if I did tell him and even if he did accept it, he still would go. There was nothing I could do to stop him going.

He never told me how he felt. Not explicitly anyway. His mouth never once uttered those precise words, yet his looks, gestures, actions told me anyway. I wonder if he ever realised it. I wonder if he regrets not telling me out right.

Even in the letters that took an eternity to reach me, he never said it. At first I thought it was because they were being read by the authorities, but he was honest about everything he was seeing, that I started to doubt my theory.

I bought the paper everyday and scoured the pages for his name, my heart swelling with pride every time I saw it. I could hear his voice in my head, reading every word. I collected every article, folding them neatly into a box. I knew that when he came back he would want to see them.

In the same box were the letters. A total of ten. One for every month. I would read them again and again, fall asleep with them in my hands, dream about him coming home.

I haven't looked at the box in a while. It's hidden under the bed, covered in dust. I can't bring myself to look at it. One day I will. One day I will have the courage to sit and read and remember the good times and not feel an ounce of pain or regret. But part of me fears that I will never reach that point.

One day I picked up the paper and his name wasn't there. I read it three times, my heart racing. Nothing. The next day was the same and the day after. A whole week passed and still nothing. I scoured his letters, wondering if he'd mentioned something, anything that would give me a clue as to why he was no longer reporting. But there was nothing. In his last letter he was still in London, reporting on the endless bombings. No mention of moving further afield.

I would lie on the bed, his bed, our bed and pray that he was okay. I wanted to believe that one day he would walk through that door, his hat in its usual jaunty position, his thumbs twiddling with his braces, a big smile on his face and he'd tell me all about it. Everything would be okay.

I stopped praying a few years ago.

And then I stopped believing anything.

The war ended and men started to come home. Some on their own two feet, some with one leg, one arm, no eyes. Some in coffins. But Cody never came home.

I sink onto the bed and lean back, listening to the springs creak beneath me. I will never know what happened. I know that. I was no-one. Cody's family would know, but I didn't and still don't know who they are or where they are. The paper won't tell me anything. They don't know who I am either.

I close my eyes and beg for the tears not to fall, but it's too late. I can feel them making their sticky way down my cheeks, taste the saltiness on my lips. Deep down, I know that I won't see him again. I'm on the verge of accepting that.

But sometimes, like now, when the city is still and all I can hear is my own breathing, I can almost hear something else. The creak of the stairs in the hallway, the sound of a key in the door, the sound of soft footfalls, the feeling of the bed dipping beside me and a warm mouth ghosting over my cheek.

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper everything I've ever wanted to say to him.

And in the darkness, I can almost feel his smile against my mouth, feel his fingers lace through mine and hear his voice.

"I love you, Randy."

I open my eyes and for the first time in a long time, I smile.

**Fin x**


End file.
